“If there is such a thing as being conditioned by climate and geography, and I think there is, it is the West that has conditioned me. It has the forms and lights and colors that I respond to in nature and in art. If there is a western speech, I speak it; if there is a western character or personality, I am some variant of it; if there is a western culture in the small-c , anthropological sense, I have not escaped it. It has to have shaped me. I may even have contributed to it in minor ways, for culture is a pyramid to which each of us brings a stone.”
― Wallace Stegner, The American West as Living Space
Lately I’ve been dreaming of the West. I don’t know why; it seems so clichéd. But I need a new start, and more important, I need to dream again. So I’ve been thinking of Telluride, Taos, open spaces, deserts, mountains, swift-moving streams, wolves, trout, horses, Spanish missions, crumbling homesteads, good air, and good light. You can lose yourself there. But you can also find the things you lost.
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